


i can hear your heart through the static

by craigtherewhoisahomosexual (Ashtarok)



Category: South Park
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Formication, M/M, Methamphetamine, Recovery, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 20:08:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtarok/pseuds/craigtherewhoisahomosexual
Summary: He’d known, of course, not physically where Tweek was, but definitely aptly marked his state as: binging on meth, somewhere, completely, totally out of his mind.





	i can hear your heart through the static

**Author's Note:**

> HEY SO. 
> 
> this is miles and miles away from my last fic. I’ve tagged it pretty heavily but yeah, meth addiction ain’t pretty fam
> 
> title from talk me home- stonefox  
> also unbeta'd bc i dont have one for this fandom rip

It was a devastatingly easy decision.

 

Craig couldn’t do this anymore. He physically, mentally,  _ wholly _ couldn’t do this anymore.

 

Getting a call from fucking Stan Marsh at 4 am because his boyfriend was tweaking outside an IHOP. Throwing on clothes, stumbling to the car, driving down the road with his heart in his throat and a tremble in his hand. Pulling up to see Tweek in total psychosis—  _ again.  _

 

9 times. 9 times, Tweek had attempted to quit ‘cold turkey’. 9 relapses, now. Craig had known days ago if he was being totally honest. He’d had to fly to Illinois for one of his grandmothers, lurking at her deathbed as the family hovered like vultures. Finally her death, a swift, thankfully peaceful affair. Then he was stuffed into an ill-fitting tux and dealt uncomfortably with many wizened handshakes, creased, teary cheeks and the faint smell of powder and moth balls. Tweek had stopped answering his texts the night after he got there.

 

In total, Craig was gone a week, having only gotten back to South Park this morning. Tweek had been noticeably absent from their apartment, and his phone had been off for days, all calls going straight to voicemail and texts marked undeliverable. There was a pan on the stove, full of 7 damn eggs, half-cooked and starting to mold. Craig’s stomach and heart lurched as he scraped it into the trash and quickly threw it in the sink to soak in sudsy water. 

 

He’d known, of course, not physically where Tweek was, but definitely aptly marked his state as: binging on meth, somewhere, completely, totally out of his mind. 

 

For once, Craig took no pleasure in being correct with this assumption, the rightness sitting heavy and acidic on his tongue. And now it was confirmed, watching the love of his life screaming, shirtless with bare feet, outside a cheerfully-lit pancake restaurant. There was a small crowd at the windows, noses pressed to the glass, even the occasional snap of a flash-on photo. 

 

Tweek was deep in it, this time. Raving at the top of his lungs about— everything, really. Underwear gnomes, the government, the elusive, all-encompassing  _ them/they  _ and how they were going to kill him. Shaking non stop, limbs stiff and jerky, hair a frazzled mess that looked like he’d stuck his fingers in an electric socket. His thin rib cage heaved with each breath, lips cracked and bleeding, eyes wide and slightly glazed, pupils blown to hell, with deep, bruise-colored bags under them. The sores, too, covering his arms, his face, even a few littered on his torso, as well as old pockmarks where he’d dug his own fingernails into his flesh, screeching about bugs, usually. There were a few bite marks on his wrists, and there was still some fine, blonde hairs caught in his ring, no doubt from tearing at his scalp. 

 

“Tweek,” Craig sighed, barely even an exhalation, carefully pulling the car up beside his boyfriend, all the windows down. “Tweek, honey, it’s me. It’s Craig.” For a moment: brief, intense surveillance, and recognition came to Tweek. Craig put the car in park and hopped out, biting his bottom lip. He knew Tweek had been at it for 15 minutes now, and the cops tended to show up at 20. 

 

“AGH! Jesus! THEY’RE COMING! They’re gonna get me! Stay back, gah, gah, AHHHH! You’re working with them, aren’t you?!” Tweek snarled, curling into himself like a wild animal, defensive and ready to bite. Craig approached slowly, hands outstretched with his palms facing out in the universal ‘I surrender’ gesture. Tweek started to back away. He wasn’t usually too outwardly violent, although he’d given Craig some nasty bruises before, turning into a vibrating, punching pinball with little warning besides a jilted warcry that sounded very much like most of his other freak-out sounds. 

 

“Tweek, it’s okay,” Craig said slowly, edging closer as Tweek started to smack and pull at his his jeans, before switching to stretching his arms and rubbing them vigorously. “Don't you want to go home, babe?” He carefully started to herd his boyfriend towards the waiting car.

 

“Calm the fuck down! Where are my shoes?! You have my shoes— no, they have them. Let me grab my goddamn bag!” Tweek hissed, looking around at the ground as his hands flew up to tug at his hair. Craig carefully wrapped a hand around one of his bloody wrists, pulling him towards the passenger’s side.

 

“It doesn’t look like you have anything, honey. Where did you come from? By the U-Stor-It?” Craig wasn’t surprised, but the sinking feeling in his stomach deepened. There were no fresh track marks on Tweek’s arms, so he had been smoking it— which always made for a worse experience. Tweek abruptly pulled away from him, shaking his head as his tic acted up every few seconds, eye twitching closed as he jolted. 

 

“I’m not going with you, Jesus fuck! My stuff! I want my, ngh, stuff! Where’s my bag?! Who took it?” Tweek ranted, pacing in a short, dizzying circle as he slapped his palms against his thighs and ground his teeth. Craig winced at the sound, shrinking back slightly as sirens began to wail in the distance. 

 

_ Shit. _

 

Tweek briefly paused at the sound, staring intensely into the dark as he simply vibrated in place. “No. Nonononooooo, no! It’s them! They’re coming! NO! Fuck!” Tweek yelled, ripping out a decent chunk of hair and starting to shiver. His nails dug into his hands, creating bloody half-moon crescents in his palms, starting to bite his wrists again. Craig grabbed him by the shoulders, feeling Tweek tense up and then whirl on him with a gasp. 

 

“C’mon, c’mon, Tweek,  _ please  _ get in the goddamn car,” Craig begged, voice cracking uncharacteristically. He shoved him at the open door and Tweek stumbled in with a groan. Craig swiftly slammed the door before Tweek could try to lurch out again, heart in his throat as he watched his boyfriend immediately start to scratch himself, muttering darkly and glaring at Craig when he got in the car and immediately tried to roll all the windows up.

 

“Fuck you, man! No! You can’t trap me! I’m an American, an American citizen, I have fucking rights!” Tweek insisted, slapping the dashboard and mashing the window down button— Craig clicked the child lock on just in time. He revved the car and slipped out the backway as 2 police cars, lights bathing the streets blue and red, pulled in the front path. He swallowed past the thick lump choking him as they safely started down the highway towards home. 

 

Tweek shuddered beside him, still picking at his arms savagely, grumbling about bugs and occasionally slapping at the door buttons again. It was a silent ride, besides the unsteady thump of his heart, muffled expletives and exclamations, and an occasional bang as Tweek slammed the heel of his hand into the window. Craig was shaky and grateful when they finally parked outside the apartment, exhaling heavily and looking over at Tweek.

 

His boyfriend was still trembling, biting his nails viciously and rocking back and forth a bit. He was a ball of kinetic energy, but he looked so frail in the moonlight, bird bones and a frantic heartbeat, pale as a ghost. Craig got out of the car and went around, sighing deeply before opening the door. Tweek lurched out raggedly, starting to rip at his hair again while making soft noises of distress. Craig had to fight to get him into their home, avoiding a few punches and practically manhandling him past the door. 

 

Craig’s whole body sank with exhaustion when he clicked the lock shut and did the deadbolt, checking to make sure the curtains were pulled. Tweek immediately gravitated towards his workspace, sitting in his chair and starting to take apart one of his nearly-completed miniatures, a plane he’d already put about 10 hours of work into. Craig was just grateful it wasn’t his laptop this time. 

 

“It’s all wrong, all wrong, but I’m gonna fix it,” Tweek muttered, shaky hands pulling off piece after piece until the plane was entirely disassembled, tacky with dried glue. Craig grabbed a few water bottles, putting them on the desk beside Tweek and grabbing a can of Red Bull for himself. It was going to be a long night (morning?), but Craig had to be awake for his crash. It happened mercifully quickly, in the grand scheme of things: 9:37 am. There were times where Tweek seemed to keep going on pure spite.

 

“I’m tired,” Tweek sighed, resting his head against the tank he’d been trying to build out of airplane parts and sniffling. His eyes started to droop, and Craig hurried over, pulling him up and helping the stumbling boy to their bedroom. He barely even got Tweek onto the mattress before his switch flipped and he passed the fuck out, body shutting down and entering reboot mode. Craig stood looking at him for awhile, his soft, unlined face, smooth in sleep, hair a frazzled mess against the pillow. A shiver went down his spine briefly, a sudden shudder causing Craig to curl into himself. 

 

Tweek had looked like a corpse for a moment. 

 

“I love you, you gigantic, fucking idiot,” he whispered, clenching his fists before carefully tucking Tweek in and going to sleep on the couch. 18 hours later, Tweek woke up, groggy and completely out of it, to piss. He promptly went back to sleep, ignoring Craig’s pleas to drink or eat something. Craig then preceded to pack, and prepare for Tweek’s awakening. After another 8 hours, as well as Craig calling out of work pretending his flight had been delayed, Tweek finally awoke with some semblance of wits about him. 

 

“I’m starving,” Tweek muttered, shuffling into the kitchen. He was shivering, but he’d at least put on some sweats and a robe, a bleary mess that immediately shoved a handful of frozen waffles into the microwave. Craig was awake, and prepared, but he waited patiently for the moment, simply offering his boyfriend water (which Tweek guzzled a few bottles in a row) and some Gatorade. Tweek ate 2 whole boxes of Eggos before he seemed to become more alive, blinking owlishly at how Craig’s bags were in the hallway.

 

“... What’s that? What are you doing?” Tweek demanded quietly, eyes wide as he stared at the suitcases. “What’s going on?” Craig sighed again, but decided it seemed appropriate time.

 

“Tweek. Honey, just. Okay.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably, getting choked up. “I can’t do this. I won’t do this, not anymore,” Craig said slowly, the words unwavering. “I love you. I love you so much. And I can’t do this. I really just can’t.”

 

“Craig, no, nono, please, I— I’m going to change! This was a mistake, a slip-up, it’s, it won’t happen again!” Tweek argued desperately.

 

“Tweek, at this point, I’m enabling you,” Craig told him, looking at him in the eye. “You need help, serious fucking help, babe.” Tweek winced at the pet name, and Craig covered his own flinch. “I can’t offer it, I’m not good enough, and it’s time we realized that. You need— professional help. You always have, but I thought, like a gigantic fucking  _ fool,  _ that it would all be okay with a little bit of love and some magic and some coping mechanisms. That’s not true, and it can’t be true; it’s simply impossible.”

 

“It’s not my fault!” Tweek exploded. “I never asked to be fed meth everyday of my childhood, I never asked to get addicted! Is that it, then? You’re giving up? Tweek is too much to handle, just like every-fucking-body has always said?!” He started scratching at his thighs, body wracked with shivers. “That’s right, Tweek’s the fuck-up spaz tweeker nobody wants to deal with,” he hissed bitterly. “Does 10 fucking years mean  _ nothing  _ to you?!”

 

Craig winced at the words, breath catching in his chest. “Tweek. How can you even say that to me? You’re my world, you fucking asshole. And that’s precisely why I just can’t stand back and watch this happen to you.” He pinned a dark stare on his boyfriend. “I absolutely refuse to watch the love of my life slowly, methodically kill himself. There’s a point, you know? A point where you’re going to have to step up and say ‘I deserve to live, I deserve to be happy, I deserve to take charge of my future without all this shit controlling me.’ Or there won’t be, and you’re going to die before you hit middle age.”

 

“And I’ve hit my point now, where I’m not going to watch all these ghosts and ghouls cling to your back and bring you down to hell. I… I get it. It’s not your fault that your childhood was the most fucked-up shit I can think of. It’s not your fault your parents abused you. It’s not your fault that you had to try and figure out how to function in this world with the deck stacked directly against you.” Craig couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken so much in a single sitting, and judging from Tweek’s utter shock, neither could he.

 

“But you know what? The only person running your life now, Tweek? Is you. You’re driving this car now, and you’re still acting like there’s a gun pressed to your temple as you swerve wildly through fucking traffic. But there isn’t.  _ You  _ are the one who sought out a dealer after your parents were busted and shutdown.  _ You  _ are the one who kept abusing meth instead of going to get treatment.  _ You  _ are the one who snorts, eats, injects, smokes, whatever the fuck you like, now. Kenny had a fucked-up childhood too, Christ, his parents were your suppliers, but he isn’t a methhead. Tweek, you are responsible for all of this now. You need to realize this. You’re in control of your goddamn life, not anybody else!”

 

Tweek gaped, blinking slowly as he huddled into his robe and started worrying his chapped bottom lip between his teeth. “Craig, I…”

 

“Listen. I don’t want to go. I’d rather chop off my fucking arm, but that’d be pretty damn stupid. But I’m going to, unless you get some help.  _ Real help.  _ I mean it. Detox, a stay if they ask for it, and then one of those long-term rehab programs. Hells Pass offers one of those matrix ones, I heard they have one of the best chances for long-term success.” Craig shifted in his seat, sighing as he briefly scratched the back of his neck. “And listen— I. I actually get slip-ups, mistakes, setbacks. They might happen.” He smiled humorlessly. “After all, meth is a helluva drug. But 28 days out of 30 sober? Better than what we’re at now. I need… what I really need…”

 

Tweek was crying, just a few tears on his cheeks, but he wasn’t scratching now, his tremble nearly nonexistent as well. “Craig, what do you need, babe?” he asked, voice cracking.

 

“I need you to see a future without drugs. I need you to want to be clean. I need you to just— try, okay?” Craig answered, getting up and heading around the table to crouch beside his boyfriend, look him square in the face. “I need you to try. Not for me, no. It can’t be for me, because I’m not a good enough reason. But for  _ you.” _

 

Tweek just looked at him a moment, a furrow in his brows and a slight shrink-back, always trying to hide from scrutiny. After a few tense moments, he popped his jaw and straightened his spine, looking directly back at Craig. They simply stared for a few moments, silent, taking each other in, somber and serious.

 

“I want to. I will,” Tweek said, after what felt like an eternity, but was only a handful of seconds. “I… I do deserve better. And you’re right, I need to acknowledge— where I am at this exact moment  _ is  _ my fault. I had help, a whole fucking lot of it, but it’s about time I took some responsibility. I. I want to be better, fuck. I’m going to try. I deserve it,” he muttered, fingers flexing against his thighs. “I’ll go to the emergency room right fucking now. I’ll get some help.” 

 

Craig offered his hand tentatively. After some mild hesitation, Tweek slotted his own in, their fingers intertwining naturally. “Would you like me to drive you?” he offered. “And. Just. I’ll be there every step, okay? I know this is a daunting fucking task. It’s… huge. And I’m happy to be your cheerleader, and your rock, and whatever else you might need, as long as you try.” 

 

It wasn’t going to be easy, Craig knew this. He’d done days of research. The relapse rates weren’t promising, the damage could be lifelong, and riding out the withdrawal could be a fucking bitch of a time. That was okay. As long as Tweek was here, trying, Craig would be too. There would be fights, screaming, crying, pain, but it would be worth it.

 

To be utterly frank, the future was an uncertain messy haze, but as Tweek checked himself in at the ER with trembling hands— Craig was utterly, completely certain they had at least made it onto the cusp of the right path. They’d face this head on, together.

**Author's Note:**

> A few things to note:  
> 1) you will probably never catch me writing something this explicit about drug use beyond weed ever again, because of the other points. It’s canon and valid and pretending it doesn’t exist is shitty, but I don’t rlly want to trigger the shit out of myself every time I write fic u feel I’m here to escape my shit life not make it worse  
> 2) my childhood’s shittiness was a pretty direct result of both of my parents abusing hard drugs and alcohol. I mean, mental illness and other issues Kickstarted it but the drugs really brought it up 500% tbh. I’m talking spousal abuse, poverty, jail time, losing custody and disappearing for 4-5 years without us knowing they were alive type  
> 3) despite this, drug addiction is a serious thing and I honestly don’t /really/ blame my mom, although it’s hard sometimes, and the anger lingers  
> 4) look at this video it’s great https://youtu.be/ao8L-0nSYzg  
> 5) my sister is a recovering drug abuser too and I actually talked to her in depth for information about this shit, although her drug of choice was actually heroine which does the exact opposite of meth tbh so I had to fill in the gaps with research as best as I could  
> 6) since she is a recovering abuser, I have, quite literally, been in craig’s situation. Most of my family has. This is shit that personally we said and did w my sister but this is just my experience!!! After 4 years of us attempting to offer help, support etc and getting really truly shit on she’s finally been clean for 6 months and we are in the best place we’ve been in years... and yet we still aren’t certain of the future. That’s life for ya 
> 
> Anyway yeah that’s a lot of disclaimers but this was one of the hardest but most,,, necessary to me, fics I’ve ever written
> 
> that being said pls feel free to come yell at me for what a shit work this is on [my tumblr](https://craigtherewhoisahomosexual.tumblr.com/)
> 
> or like just send me prompts tbh i'll likely end up writing them???? i'll do anything except cartman lmfao


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